Two years have passed since that day. I work full-time, taking online classes in the evenings. Max is in second grade, excelling in reading and always eager to show me his art projects. He tells his friends I’m his “hero big brother,” and I blush every time. We still share our small apartment. We argue over which movie to watch and who gets the window seat on the couch. We laugh at the dinner table when I burn the pasta and we cover it in sauce to hide the lumps.
I’m far from perfect. I still mess up. But every night when I tuck Max into bed and he looks up at me with a sleepy smile, I think back to the promise I made at the grave: “I’ll never let anyone take you away.” And I know I’ve kept that promise.
Because real love isn’t measured by years you’ve lived or dollars in a bank. It’s measured by the fights you’re willing to face and the lengths you’ll go for the person you love. When Max whispered, “You never gave up on me,” I whispered back, “I could never give up on you.” And that will always be enough.
